


The Color of His World

by dangoesque



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 10:52:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4017007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangoesque/pseuds/dangoesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Sianne Cousland died defeating the Archdemon, even though she convinced Alistair to perform Morrigan's ritual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Color of His World

**Author's Note:**

> In my canon, Alistair and Sianne rule together, but I was inspired to write this based on this prompt by otpprompts.tumblr.com:  
> «Imagine that Person B has died years ago and Person A struggles to remember what they looked like.»
> 
> A big thank you to my pandamorph for beta-reading this!

It has been ten years since they ended the Blight, but his nightmare prevailed. King Alistair Theirin had taken a wife two years after the Archdemon's death, pressured by several councilors in desperate need to see the line of succession secured. However, no heir existed and he was no closer to his Queen than he was to a stranger on the street. Any effort to produce one felt like a chore, one of his many duties as King. He did have an unknown child somewhere in Thedas, a likely apostate product of a ritual meant to save their lives. But it didn't. It didn't save her. And Maker help him if he ever set eyes on that damned witch again.  
  
Alistair clenched his fists around the reins of his horse, stopping at the gates of Castle Cousland. Coming to Highever was a rare event, one he avoided at any cost, but there were just so many times a King could neglect part of his own kingdom. He had never visited the castle with her, but he could see her presence in every stone and imagine lighter, happier days with her running through the halls, golden hair rebelling against a noblewoman's hairdo. He could picture her crouching in a less than elegant manner to play with Sirius. He should've brought the dog. He thought it would be cruel to bring him, but he wasn't sure anymore if keeping his canine companion from this was any better.  
  
As expected, Fergus received the King and pleasantries were exchanged. Alistair just went through the motions, as meeting one noble was much like meeting them all, until they blended into one being. He was there in official business but that was not his priority, therefore they agreed to address formal matters over a meal. In the meantime, Alistair made his way to the castle's chapel, where he knew he would find her with her family. Her family. Never his family.  
  
The room was poorly lit, with only a small window that allowed daylight to enter and two torches that burned near the entrance. It was a dark, cold place and he remembered how the Hero of Ferelden had enjoyed the colder weather. He remembered the rosy tone of her cheeks and of the tip of her nose all too well, how she would snuggle into the blankets and how she would allow her mischievous side to come out all too often by pressing her freezing fingers against his bare neck. A rare smile appeared slightly on his lips, for he could almost feel the end of her long, pale fingers pressing against his skin. They weren't.  
  
She was there, but she wasn't. Her remains were hidden from sight, concealed by a marble tomb, with the top sculpted to her likeness. Only then did Alistair realize he was clenching his fists all along, when his fingers uncurled and touched her stone-white lips. It was wrong, this was not what she looked like. What did she look like? He remembered her sun-kissed hair, the golden warmth that looked back at him, the rosy cheeks and cherry lips, but he could not remember her features, not clearly. Yet he knew they were wrong. He felt his throat tighten and his fingers pressed against the cold, expressionless, so very wrong stone.  
  
“You said we would do this together. You said---”, his voice was caught by an involuntary sob and Alistair brought his free hand to his lips, knuckles red with pressure. The sole reason he had accepted to be King was laying inside a tomb. She had convinced him by guaranteeing that she would remain by his side and that they would do this like they did everything else: Together. To ensure this, she had even talked him into sleeping with Morrigan, as it would save the person who dealt the killing blow to the Archdemon. Except he had seen her legs give out next to the creature's corpse. He had been close enough to catch her in his arms and he remembered all too well the heaviness of her body as the light vanished from her eyes. He remembered too clearly the feeling of losing someone else he had dared to consider family. His family. His wife that never was.  
  
Ten years and he couldn't recall her features anymore. Ten years and he never forgot the colors of his world before they were all drained from it.


End file.
